Grateful Dead

Hello everyone, I see that nobody has posted anything in Africa yet. I go to places all over Africa all the time. Hopefully this will qualify me to declare a sort of sovereignty over the African airwaves here. Is it airwaves? Internetwaves. I declare sovereignty over the African internetwaves. So does that make me the king of this or what? I don't think I wanna be the king of anything. Okay, I think I am more comfortable with squatting here in Africa. That's much better. I mean, what if someone from South Africa or something comes along and wants to chat? I know a cab driver in Durban everybody calls Jerry Garcia. He's world famous among sailors. He looks like Jerry only he has a Kalashnikov on the seat next to him instead of a guitar. I've never seen him use it. That's beside the subject, the point is, he might want to come on and chat. The big deal around there anyway was that he would take us to the seaman's club to use the internet and have a few beers. That being said, I have been thinking that maybe I have been posting too long of diatribes in the threads. I don't know but I kind of think this might be bad etiquette or something. I know...I'm probably obsessing, but the thing is nobody is using this internetwave anyway. So I posted my family's cancer story in the family section and got all these great comments. You guys are wonderful. I am gonna be here indefinitely. I value ya'll's opinion's. I like posting stuff and getting feedback. It helps. It motivates. It inspires. And that is what I need Ya'll. I've also been hemming and hawing about what to take for my master's degree. I know for certain that one thing is true, I am going to go to school, no more working working working endlessly restlessly leaving my family behind for a dime and coming home and leaving again before we are ready. That die is cast now anyway...Marjie and I were chatting this morning and I decided that I don't just want to do art or write or do photography and teach for a leaving and stuff like that, but I also want to segue my engineering background and try to promote environmental activism as well. We talked about it for a few minutes and I jotted down the idea. I posted it next because I want to know what you guys think. So, if anybody finds me here, I hope you don't mind. Hozomeen-the great spiller of words-once king of Africa-gave it up for squatter's rights Put your good where it will do the most. -The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test

Why I should go into documentary photojournalism: Sustainable development and green building are going through what could be called a movement. We have seen attention and focus being diverted into an area that was once looked upon as “kooky” or “quirky” by many of those who would popularize it today. I remember my elementary school bus driver Mr. Westervelt, and how my father used to poke fun at him behind his back for having a passive solar house he built himself, and a potter’s shed, and so on and so forth. They were next door neighbors, and so it used to drive my father, the staunch conservative neat freak, up the wall to see Mr. Westervelt jogging by at age sixty something in his short shorts and tee-shirt and wave and smile, probably knowing the ridicule coming his way. My father, short, chubby, Budweiser, tan, would polish his Corvette or whatever and say “there goes the Sierra Club” or something like that. I guess it speaks to my dad’s character that just saying that he was in the sierra club was insult enough. Bob lived a natural life out on the lake next door to my father. He kept his property heavily forested and pretty much natural and untouched. His lot was ideal, a peninsula with a beach facing the main channel on Lake Lanier and a nice cove to put a dock on the other side, the peninsula serving as a break wall. My dad, who is a builder, had always been chomping at the bit to get a hold of the Westervelt’s place. It was an eye-sore to him. It was a calamity colliding with his neat and tidy and sterile environment he had created across the cove. Finally one day Bob’s wife fell ill; they were too old to live out there, and they moved into a senior’s community. My dad swooped in. Immediately he began cutting down trees. He tore down the potter’s shed first thing. In its place he built a very nice stone guest house. It had a full day-light basement with a roll-up steel door. My dad never did anything half-ass, especially when it came to his own place. That’s right; he intended to move next door when this project was done. The lot was that nice. At any rate, the old Westervelt place, the tribute to the sixties and the naturalists and Buddhists and would be practitioners of civil disobedience was all but erased. All that was left was the old house that Bob built himself. The old passive solar home, big grey deck out front with lots of glass and straight lines and that seventies feel, that architectural movement stamped in time whenever you walk into a place and you automatically know within a couple of years when it might have been built. To take care of the house, my dad arranged for the fire department to come down and do a practice fire. I wish I cold have seen it. I was out at sea. They said it was cool. All my dad’s friends were there, and he had a cooler of gator-aide for the guys on the squad, and another one of Bud for his Buds. Later he threw up a McMansion. It was enough to make you sick really. It had everything expensive and gaudy. Every time I pull up I kind of get sick to my stomach when I see the gas light burning, just burning for no reason, out in front of his huge four car garage where he keeps his four expensive and not very efficient cars. It is a difficult thing for me to stomach…really. But I will have to give him one thing. When they were getting ready for the controlled burn, they had to go in and inspect all the attic spaces, crawl spaces, anything they could to make sure they knew what was going to happen when they lit the place. They never found anything illegal or unusual. What they found was mold. I don’t know the specific type, but what I do know is that Mrs. Westervelt’s health and mental clarity returned to her after they moved. The point is, despite Mr. Westervelt’s good intentions to build a house that would be more environmentally friendly and cost effective and so on, he ended up with a sub-standard domicile that grew a toxic mold that ended up taking years of cognizant and healthy life from his dear loved one. Now, in place of his old homestead, is this gaudy monstrosity of a thing with a pool that overlooks a groomed landscape…but, it has Hepa filters, built-in vacuum systems, well designed HVAC and structural ventilation, and many other details not available to the Westervelts back in the day like special mold resistant sheet rock for the bathroom. There is little or no chance, and probably some kind of guarantee, that nobody will ever get sick in the house my dad built. My dad works for a large production home builder. He has built those McMansions as spec houses on the side for twenty something years also, sometimes whole neighborhoods of them. Like I said, he is a staunch conservative when it comes to politics. He is all about money, and big business. The funny thing is that now I see him possibly embracing some of the liberal principals he once ridiculed in the Westervelt’s next door. Why? They are all saying it, and it is no mystery. Money. He would have a much more difficult time moving a McMansion now than ever before. His last one was a squeaker and the market has gotten worse since. As far as production home building is concerned I don’t think there would be any better option for any of the competing companies than to offer green building options such as solar water heating systems, passive solar heating, photovoltaic panels, and natural lighting options like skylights and solar tubes. It is an exciting time for those with the good intentions, cause here come the ones with the money; ready to swoop in and make more money. It is the collision of these two powerful forces that is causing a movement. A historical, architectural, technological, philosophical, political, wonderful, difficult movement is happening as we speak. As in any movement, it is important that people who are motivated in that direction be educated to properly and completely document the event. I am an engineer. What does that say about me? My politics? Doesn’t matter really. I think my calling is to document. Like I said, I see virtue on both sides of the fence, as well as folly. I honestly feel like the best possible thing I could do to help out would be to bring this to everybody’s attention. How? Documentary photojournalism would be my choice, but then again that choice is personal also, almost as if it chooses you. I got into black and white photography on my own simply because my old job took me to exotic ports all around the world and I wanted to have good photos to show people. I’ve always believed in my own ability to learn new things so I set out to learn it and I did. Writing on the other hand is the natural ability I have been blessed with. It has been my way of coping with world I guess. Whatever it has been, what it has become is a passion. So what about being an engineer? Well…that’s a fluke really, but I have seen the world because of it, seen it a good couple of times. And I have grown fascinated by my field. I’ve always been a good engineer on the ship, hard working, getting along with the other crew and all that, and paying good attention to detail. I have always been able to get to know a new plant in a short period of time, and the longer I have sailed the easier it has become. I am also a good welder, pipe fitter, and fabricator in general. These skills have spilled over into my personal life, and my own quest to eventually live on a modern day Walden Pond. I am experimenting with soldering photovoltaic cells into arrays. My goals are to be able to purchase the parts to make my own panels, and TIG weld the frames out of aluminum; then add them monthly to an array attached to a grid tie inverter using the proceeds from the North Carolina Solar Power Initiative to fund new panels. The house I live in with my wife and son happens to have an oil furnace with a passive heating system throughout. This only tempts me to fabricate my own passive solar heating system and tie it into the house’s existing system. If I get really ambitious, and a little money in my pocket, I plan to use a combination of aeroponic gardening, solar tube lighting technology, and fiber optics to try and make produce grow in my kitchen. I’ll tell ya, a guy like me with four months vacation after four months work can really come up with some crazy stuff. Even though I have grown fond of my engineering background, I am still a documentarian, an artist if you will, at heart. Though this seems to be a strange combination, for me it could not only be convenient but in light of the current movement toward sustainable development it could prove to be the perfect combination. My background, including my personal exploits and interests, lend themselves nicely toward my being an effective photojournalist who could specialize in covering the new technology that is coming out all the time and present it in such a way as to not deter or otherwise frighten the consumer who would think these things might be too complicated, or expensive, to consider. Not only that, but I could also focus on the politics of the situation, the old battles and hard feelings like in the situation I discussed above. My unique perspective goes beyond my knowledge and experience with engineering and technology, but also extends into politics; me being raised by two conservatives who hate each other, divorced, re-married, re-divorced, re-married, people, people, people…and eventually I found myself drawn to the more liberal minded people who seemed to pay closer attention to me, or be more concerned about my feelings. Who knows? Like I said, I have seen virtue and folly on both sides of the fence, and sometimes I don’t necessarily feel a strong connection or affiliation with either. So what does that make me? Hopefully it makes me a journalist.

Hozomeen, I have no idea what you wrote has anything to do with the Grateful Dead. The writing seemed so long winded and rambling. Let's keep the discussion about the Grateful Dead and find another website to post your life story.

Okay, I was talking about that in the beginning post. I have been into the dead for as long as I can remember, and they have influenced my life as much as anything else. I just started posting stuff last week. Please feel free to delete all of that. Please delete it. I was talking all about how I felt like I was posting too much. Anyway, it has to do with the Grateful Dead inasmuch as I have to do with them. Again, please, delete it and accept my deepest and humblest apologies. As far as typing my life story, I'm sorry about that as well. My wife and I moved to a new place a couple of years ago and she got cancer. We haven't really met anyone here yet, and I just felt a little comfortable. Again, please delete it if you are a website admin.

because u have no reason to apologize and as far as i am concerned, u should post as many times as u like and explain anything u wish to explain. if we dont want to read it then that is our choice and that is the way it should be and we should all expect the same for each of us. the forum u wrote in asked " What's up in your part of the world? And how did you get into the Dead? Please make yourselves at home here!"... and that is exactly what u did....i felt u wrote all u did for the sheer reason u were comfortable and felt at home....we are not a community here to censor or isinuate any version of censorship and just the opposite, we facilite an open (say what u feel and think) environment...we respect and embrace ur thoughts hozomeen and keep em comin... stay safe and feel good! > (~):-}

Hozeman,There are all sorts of topics on this site that aren't directly about the Dead but as Deadheads much of what we do is somehow connected to the Dead. There are places on this site about pets, food, movies, books, tv, the weather which very rarely if ever mention the band. So keep on keepin on. f the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it is, infinite. William Blake

I really enjoy reading your posts...I wish I could write like that!! Sometimes we live no particular way but our own, And sometimes we visit your country and live in your home, sometimes we ride on your horses, sometimes we walk alone, sometimes the songs that we hear are just songs of our own. **Peace**

Feel free to speak your mind. I apologize for the people who are too ignorant to comprehend your thoughts, and life experiences. We're all here because we have a common interest. However, this site enables us to bleed our conciousness and opinions into a visual pool for all folk to pick and choose from. Some people are receptive, and some people are reluctant to the ideas and facts before them. Don't worry about these people. We out number them 1,492:1 I for one am terrified of roller coasters...

I just wanted to say thank you so much for all the good vibes and comments and everything. If there is one thing I need to learn it is going to be to take some negativity if I am going to put myself out there a little bit. I've been writing all my life, but to be honest I only started sharing anything with anybody recently. Since I have been posting things on here, and getting feedback from people who would otherwise read the kinds of things I am drawn to, I have changed my direction to better suit what I should be doing instead of keeping it under my hat and saving it for another day when other things get done. The Grateful Dead, the lot and the community surrounding the Dead, and especially the positive spirits of all my brothers and sisters out there have made all the difference in my life. I guess the time has come for me to start trying to give back, and you guys are my jumping off point, my test audience if you will. Thank you for letting me have Africa. I promise not to abuse it. The reason I chose it was that I thought nobody would care. I'm not from there, but so many important things have happened to me while I was there that it is a part of me. So for now, reedchris, did you ever find out if Mary is pregnant or not? I've got an un-explainable urge to go make me a big ole crabby patty. Thanks you guys, it feels good to be one of you. Put your good where it will do the most. -The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test

Hey my brother keep posting !! I really don`t read much but i do ,did, read your postings , or most of them ,, hey i enjoy it !! so feel free to speak your mind .. it don`t matter what you write abt. your home here .. if some folks have negative feelings abt. it ,,well they should not read it .. that simple .. I for instance , can`t stand our local TV stations so i do not wach it .. that simple ... keep writing man ,, peace and good wishes to you !! I`ll keep reading .. OH yea reedchris , whats up with Mary ?? Hope all is well !! peace to everyone !!! screw the negativeity !!

The main engine is a Hitachi B&W. That’s a Burmeister and Wain design built by Hitachi Shipbuilding Engineering. She was built in the fall of 1976. I guess that was just prior to the Carter Administration. Jimmy Carter had nothing to do with the construction of this engine what-so-ever. He wasn’t even president then. She’s a big tall gray monstrosity with six cylinders capable of producing 11,200 brake horsepower. At full sea speed she turns about 130 revolutions per minute, which makes for a pretty good beat if you ask me. Much better than the sluggish 100 RPM or so, and way nicer than anything medium speed I can tell you right now. Pielstick never made an engine you could dance to. Not even close. The exhaust valves are hydraulically opened, and then closed by the force of the red and green springs that are hard to miss as soon as you walk down into the engine room. Exhaust escaping into the manifold, and some into the engine room, sounds like a drummer keeping time on the high hat. Slight differences in timing and rack settings give each cylinder a distinctly different sound that provides the tempo of a solidly played six string base guitar. Then there is the melody; the random drone of the turbochargers as they get dirtier and dirtier giving off vibrations that vary in ways to create a melodic affect like a synthesizer being slowly played while the baseline marched mechanically and methodically onward. Finally, to back it all up, is the percussion. The springs forcing the valves back in place, plus the clanks of the valves actually hitting the seat, has the quality of a well played and well stocked drum kit. Sometimes the DEU will stand in the machine shop smoking a cigarette and tapping her foot. The OMU stands idly by her bobbing his head and smiling with a Gatorade in his hand. At this point you might feel inclined to go stand in front of the lathe and wait for the bartender to come back so you an order a beer, but forget it, because that bastard has been on break since I got here, and lately, I have begun to question his existence. Different areas of the engine room will give you different effects. Down by the lube oil purifier it kind of sounds like Pink Floyd droning on. Sometimes when in the control room it can morph into a calypso quality that will make you want to run screaming out onto the fantail, which was cool by the way because they shoot you with a tranquilizer dart. Do you know what they put in those things? Tranquility, that’s what. But when the stress gets to you and you need to relax, I suggest that you go down and hang out next to the crankcase doors over by the bilge pump. The humming of the crossheads and journals combined with the rhythmic whir of the line shaft and stern tube bearings will somewhat resemble chanting Buddhist monks. You can pump the bilge and calmly enjoy a life free of desire, but don’t let them catch you smiling serenely. They are a bunch of ruthless bastards. They are followers of Ayn Rand, and you are a threat to their way of life. If they catch you, they will most likely lock you in a room somewhere, and then send in this guy who looks like Hank Reardon’s ghost. He’ll be wearing a three-piece suit with a matching hat, smoking an unfiltered cigarette, and carrying a leather briefcase or maybe some blueprints under his arm to help him over-emphasize the extent of his importance. His job will be to convert you, but stand your ground man. They are as dumb as they are ruthless, and with any luck you can be out of there unscathed in four or maybe five days.

I was in school at the Merchant Marine Academy; nineteen years old; a Georgia boy. I had no business being there. The deal at the academy is that you do six months of your sophomore year and six months of your junior years at sea. At least that's how it used to be. I hear they are on trimesters now. Who knows? Anyway, it was this sea year that attracted me to the school in the first place. So I'm nineteen, heavy boozer, balls to the walls so to speak. I was coming unhinged having to deal with the life of being me all hemmed up in Navy uniform and creating little or no art. I didn't realize the importance of the art thing until later in life. I was just running a muck really, with no balance whatsoever. It was time for me to leave for sea. Shiny black FBI shoes walking down military barrack hallway. Hair tucked under garrison cover, hands full, I walked passed Devon Ryan's room. His room was like a diorama. You would walk by, and what was going on inside went on totally and completely without any regards to the rules outside. It was as if it were a neat and tidy exhibit of some other time and place. Devon’s roommate was Greg Harper. Greg used to say his favorite workout included one hour of hard weight lifting followed by a shot of scotch. Run three miles whilst smoking one cigarette per mile, without stopping mind you, and then back to his room for a quick one two alone in his room just before Devon got back from machine shop. All this toped off with scotch of course, and all the while smoking non filtered cigarettes, all the while smiling under curly brown locks, leaning back and making off handed remarks about how Harper is a black name. Greg was the kind of guy I always wanted to learn to be. He seemed bulletproof to the ill effects of society or labels or whatever. Greg always seemed wise beyond his years to me. Then there was Devon. He was Irish. Long Island Irish, which if you ask me is a different kind of Irish altogether, meaning that there is a culture of Irish people living on Long Island and it is their separation from Ireland that binds them together over here. When I first moved up to New York from Georgia, people would ask, “Where are you from?” and I would respond “Georgia.” “No, I mean what are you?” “I don’t know, a RedNeck maybe.” What they were looking for was Welsh, I am welsh, but then again, my being welsh isn’t nearly as important to me as Devon’s being Irish is important to him. He was Irish, and you could tell just by looking at him. Right down to Cheshire grin on round face, Devon was as Irish as any guy I have ever met. Devon stopped me as I walked past with bags in my hands. “Hey man,” he nodded me over. Smoke filled the room. Greg and Devon each smoked unfiltered cigarettes and just ashed on the floor. They weren’t dirty, in fact their room was as consistently clean a room as you would ever see. They just smoked, ashed, and swept it up. Greg sat in his khaki uniform pants, imitation leather shoes with white socks, and white tee-shirt, smoking a butt and whittling two dogs fucking out of a piece of balsa or something. Devon, clad in full sweats, and smoking a butt as well, brought me over to his desk. He opened the top drawer, and as usual there was little more than a single pencil and a couple pieces of paper, but this time there was also a book. Oh what a book. He picked it up and studied it for a second. He absorbed it, as if he had to say goodbye. Put his cigarette in his mouth and handed it right over. “Here, this is a book you gotta read. But you have to promise me something, you have to give it to someone else when your done. This is one book that needs to keep moving and touch as many lives as possible.” He made me promise, and he was serious about it. I took him seriously. I didn’t read it until I was on my second ship. The S/S “Louise” Lykes. I read it during the ocean crossing; I read it three times in a row. It was as much a revelation for me as it was for anyone else in orbit around the philosophy it represents. It didn’t bring me balance though. Oh no, in fact I would say that it threw me more off balance than I already was at that time in my life. Oh well. I didn’t like Devon asked and gave the book to someone else, never reading a word past the three times I read it crossing the Atlantic. I wanted to be Dean. Who wouldn’t? Dean Moriarty. No limits, no curfew. Bullet proof and on the run, Dean was that guy who was always aware of what went on late at night after I had already cashed in my chips, and somehow by virtue of that had a handle on everything all the time. He’s always cool, no reason not to be when the bases are loaded and Dean’s at bat. We all know he’s gonna knock it out of the park, and don’t bother hitting on the prettiest girl cause he’s gonna knock that out of the park as well. I didn’t have a good idea of what Neal Cassidy looked like at the time, so to me Dean looked like Greg Harper; rough, but with an inner beauty that outshines his scars and imperfections. Years later, about eleven years, I was working on this pre-positioning ship parked near Ascension Island. For those who are unaware, a pre-positioning ship is one that sits with military cargo loaded and ready to go to wherever it might be needed. I had been used to working on ships on the move, so getting used to the sedentary lifestyle aboard a “pre-po” took some getting used to. I had a habit of going up and talking to the third mate Brett Smith while he was on watch. I sent my emails up on the bridge at the same time every day, and so after a short time I became friends with him and the AB who was on watch with him. They were both good guys, and as luck would have it we each had similar music tastes. Eventually we got into books we liked. Of course I had to talk all about Salinger. I probably went on and on about Hemmingway, Kurt Vonnegut, Hunter Thompson, and so on and so forth in that fashion. Bret was right there with me though. See, I don’t just go on like that when I feel like the person I’m talking to has no clue what I am saying. When I meet someone like him who has read many of the same books like that though, it’s like a burst of conversation, because I mainly enjoy and appreciate these books alone. Finally it came up, “On the Road, there’s a book I need to read. I haven’t read that in so many years.” I don’t think we even talked that much about it. Brett just looked at me and knew my dilemma. Brett went home not long after that. A week later a package showed up at my door. He had sent me two books. One I wanted to read, and one he wanted me to read. The other book was “Confederacy of Dunces” and I liked it. Then there was a vintage paperback copy of “On the Road.” It was Yellow. It smelled like old book. On the cover is a guy making out with a girl on top of an old Chevy with a flat tire and a jug of wine. I was afraid of it at first. I had been on a Tom Robbins kick and just kept avoiding it. Finally I read it. Again. It was entirely different this time. This time I saw something different. This time I knew that I was different. I’ve since been working my way through the Legend of Duluoz.

Is what we are here for-to read what others have to say, and to say our piece when inspired. Your storytelling is excellent, Hozomeen- so write as long and as much as you want!!!!********************************** Don't part with your illusions. When they are gone, you will still exist, but you have ceased to live. Samuel Clemens

Off to Freetown SL. Anyone have any suggestions? Let me know. Trifecta

What takes you to Freetown? I've been there once, for an abbreviated stay, but I've spent a fair amount of time in Conakry a little to the North in Guinea...its cool up there...I worked on cargo ships back then and when I was in Freetown that time we had lots of work down below and so I didn't get ashore, which is just as well cause I seem to remember it being one of those places with lots of police presence...a couple of the topside guys of the ship snuck over the border to see their "girlfriends" back in Conakry from Freetown...Guinea was kinda like that as well, but at least a little more relaxed feeling, like a pack of smokes could reasonably get you out of harms way...anyway, I don't know how familiar you are with that part of the world so let me know what you need to know...

A wise thing to seek info before u go. Ur a well traveled type though and I'm sure u'll be all good. I haven't been there though so... I'd do some serious checking! Watch ur ass is all I'm gonna say and have a damn good time! We want to hear some stories from this so be sure to make it back in one piece! Are you kind?

Thanks. I do business in Freetown (pharmaceutical and medical supplies) and have been for 4 years or so but this is my first time actually going there. In Africa I usually go to Eritrea, Algeria, and Mali. God I have some great partners and do well in Somalia but things are a bit rough there at the moment. As soon as things cool down I am there!! I have a solid partner in SL who I have been working with for a while and have met in China several times. So I will be taken care of but I am always looking out for someplace where I can sneak away by myself to mix with the locals and to find good music. Any suggestions? Hey Jodestar, we have spoken about our travels before! I am currently in Dubai and the city has a very international feeling to it. I have the same feeling in Hong Kong, Brussels, (and used to feel like this back in NY). Hey Marye, thanks for noticing. Cheers I actually have shipments through an NGO to Conakry but have never been there. My personal policy is to go wherever my products go and to see the people how are using them so I am sure I will make it there some day. Ya SL and Liberia where really !@#$ up not too long ago with the Charles and the boy soldiers etc. Here is a good book to read. "Allah is Not Obliged by Ahmadou Kourouma. The book is actually fiction but is based on the real thing only told as any great African story teller would tell it. Lots of humor but with the bitter truth about how far things went in the tribal wars in SL and Liberia back in the 90's. I read this book about 2 years ago and it is one of those books that you cannot put down and you are temped to reference now and again. Anyway, I hear Freetown has some of the best beaches in the world and I shall find out in a couple of weeks. Anymore stories of Africa? I have been living in Asia (China) for about 5 years and have been traveling to Burma, Thailand et for sometime but I have always had a love for Africa. Must have been that Toto song back in the early eighties when MTV first came out. Ha ha. Cheers guys and girls

Just read back through the threads and saw the post from Bamski (rambling). Hozomeen I have enjoyed your posts and they are well written and please keep them coming. The reason why I am on here is to share life experiences with the same people who I used share and create my life experiences back in the day. I am always in the mood to hear a good experience i.e. story. "I ant got no dime, but I got some time to hear his story." I have always been the adventurous type, but I was truly freed when I decided to go on tour with GD and later Phish. Those years were my platform to who I am today and are the reason why I find myself in places all over the world. Ihave degrees under my belt now, but i learned how to sell on the lot!! Pizza, beer, soda, you name it!!!! Those days on the road I could not believe that after breaking through the Great Divide and traveling from sea to shinning sea that there was still a show to go see almost every night!! This kept me coming back for more year after year until the time was right to move on. Anyway, my point is that the GD is the core of this site, but there are many travels and experiences that take place outside this core.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EmN0mFHDH2w check this out.

does anyone have this on Mp3. It was from 87. i would love to hear a good copy of this as it is absolutly amazing!!!!

Currently in Free Town Sierra Leone. Beautiful Coast Line as it is settled between some smaller mountains and the Pacific Ocean. Freetown is a city of about 5 million people according to some locals. The country is still recovering from the war which officially ended in 2002 or 2003. It was a brutal brutal war filled with amputations and child soldiers and then some. I am staying at the Bintumani Hotel which during the war was the headquarters of the "Armed Forces Revolutionary Council (AFRC) who was a group of Sierra Leone soldiers that allied itself with the rebel Revolutionary United Front in the late 1990s. While the AFRC briefly controlled the country in 1998, it was driven from the capital by a coalition of West African troops." The country is still recovering but there is a sense of peace here now.

Forgive me i meant Atlantic Ocean!!! It was an 8 hour flight from London and then a 3 hour drive/ferry from the Airport to Freetown. During these 3 hours i can see the lights of Freetown the whole time. Anyway, this place is pretty cool and tomorrow i am off to Banana Island, and Beach #2 which brings me through the African Jungle. The locals are friendly and there are some beautiful women here. I once dated a girl from Kenya and have always been attracted to African Women especially from Kenya, Eritrea/Ethiopia etc. Eritrean women are a mix between African and Arabian and their skin has a gold tint with curly locks. Man!!! Ok the lights just went out again and now i am writing in the dark. I like Sierra Leone more than Mali because in Mali there is absolutely no English and the French they speak is nothing like i have ever heard before. Hell my French is bad but theirs is just !@#$. I was once told “Parler Petit Negre," and i remember thinking why is this person telling me that i am speaking Ebonics!!! In FRENCH!!! That was when i figured out that the derogatory word "Nigger" does not apply to black people; it applies to anyone who speaks BAD FRENCH!!!! (Little Nigger speaking) Man life is a trip. Anyway, there are so many points in life where you think you know something and then when that something actually happens in real life you figure out that you were wrong the whole time. Anyway i do not like the word bla bla (i don’t have to say it again), but like i said before no PC here. I try to tell it like it is. Here i am still on the road heading for another joint.

Funny stuff!Could you say "pardon my French"? ;) "Are you kind?"

Means black-as in a person with black skin, BUT does not have the negative association of the American word. Is more like "negro" back when that was considered to be p.c.********************************** Don't part with your illusions. When they are gone, you will still exist, but you have ceased to live. Samuel Clemens

Anyway i was told this by a friend in Mali who is from Mali and during this moment there was another friend from France on hand. "You may be Arab, Chinese, White, Russian or even American, if you talk bad French its called Parler petit Negre aka; Little "bla bla " talking, so that makes you a "bla bla " too." If i remember correctly this was the conversation that i had with this African and French guy while discussing West Africa and a book called "Allah is not Obliged" by Ahmadou Kourouma who is a famous African writer and who uses this terminology throughout his book. He also sites the Laroussse and the Petit Robert and the Glossary of French lexical particularities in Black Africa as sitting this phrase and hence what i am referring to above. I have not personally checked into this but i have taken it at face value.

“Freetown Peninsular, having a 40km length from Aberdeen to Kent with exceedingly attractive and varied beaches by the Peninsular Mountains.” Ok guys and girls i have found another hidden treasure. Yesterday we drove about 2 hours from of Freetown towards Guinea. My friends took me to a place called Kent Beach and then took a 20 minute boat ride on a little brittle canoe type fishing boat ridden with small wholes etc to Banana Island. (I am going back today) The boat ride was a tad bit harry as we are on the Atlantic Ocean and there are waves and the whole nine yards. Ate fresh lobster, fish, and got drunk on palm wine on the beach and went for a swim. Found out that Burning Spear is from Sierra Leone and met one of the band members friends. They return to Sierra Leone often for holidays etc. Anyway, Banana Island is a beautiful picturesque place with a haunting past. This island was used as the main discharge points for the slave trade and both British and American ships used to load their human cargo on this island. I was able to see the remains of the stone warehouses and loading docks and was able to have a moment of silence for all those people who were forced to leave this paradise for a hellish life in the Americas. What a scar on human history. I was also able to talk with my friends who lived through the war which ended in 2002. Stories of the Child soldiers and the mass killings. This stuff really makes you think. I told all who were present that i have such respect for them as they were able to survive such an event. I thought about a time in my life that i considered one of the best times of my life. I thought about summer Phish tour about July/August 1997. Then i asked them what they were doing during this time. While i was playing in the sun and having the time of my life these guys were starving, sick, watching their friends and family having their arms and hands cut off (short sleeve or long sleeve was the question of the day: Look it up on Google). I heard stories of how brutal humans can be to one another and they are so brutal that i do not want to repeat them here unless asked. You can probably find this stuff on Google. Anyway, on to better things. I was at Kent beach which is way out in the jungle and the mountains reach into the sea at this point on the Peninsula. The water is crystal blue and the beaches are white. There are very few people out here. There was only one other couple on the whole beach while we were there, and they were from some international org which is a part of the UN or something. The water was very warm and the waves were breaking nicely, so nice that I am surprised that there were no surfers out there.

so, i'll tell the story of my wife. She does not know who her birth father was - but she found her birth mother a few years back - who was surprised and reluctant to talk with her - see, my wife was born 1/11/1963 in Rowanda (now Zimbabwe), and given up for adoption. Her adoptive parents (wonderful people) adopted her as an infant while living in South Africa. They also adopted another baby, which became her brother (not by blood - but by adoption). Her adotpted father was the military atache to South Africa & they lived i south Africa until she was 3 - then they returned to the states & settled in Virginia. They tell the story of being places, like the grocery store, and she would throw a tantrum, screaming " I WANT TO GO BACK TO AFRICA" - In Africa, they had hired help (all native) - George, the butler, Johanna, the child caregiver, and several others - and they have lots of great stories & pictures about that time. They eventually moved to San Francisco, and she pretty much spent her teenage years there - first living on Fort Mason, but later, moving to a house in the Marina district & attending St. Bridget's. Eventually, they moved back east, which is where I met her - i was "babysitting" a friend of the family - who had an alcohol problem, and we went to a bar - but she ditched me & instead of getting pissed off, I brought her her drink (in the midst of like 5 guys that were crowded around) and went off by myself to see what would happen. This friend I was babysitting was older than me by about 6 years and statuesque - beautiful on the outside, but very troubled. Anyway, I saw this table of girls being bothered by a group of guys who were buying them drinks -but coming on very heavily, so i started talking to them - and told them my story & I pointed out my friend on the dancefloor. They thought it was funny - and one of them said - hey, this guy is from up where you live (to my future wife). Later, there was some discussion about whether she had "stolen" me, because I originally was talking to the girl that introduced me to my future wife. Anyway, we talked & danced (the song was "Boom Boom Boom Lets Go Up to MY Room") and had a good time & made plans to see each other next week-end. meanwhile, I had to collect my baggage & get her home - which was a trip in itself - but it all worked out - so Next week-end, I'm getting ready for the date, and i figure i should take all my dead tapes out of the car - and pack it with "conventional" music - and when I pick her up, the first thing she says, after lookign at the music selection is "Oh - you don't have any Dead" - I was shocked - I had like 5000 hours of bootleg tapes at the time - so we go to dinner & then a movie - and then out to a bar -and I actually run out of money - I wasn't expecting to do all that - but it's cool, she has money -and then we wind up back at her place - where her brother is supposed to be keeping an eye on her because her parents are out of town - but he's out too - so we sit & talk - and i start to see this halo over her head - and i can't stop looking at it. Somehow, I figure it must be an optical illusion - but there it is -and it's not going away, no matter what I do - so i'm not even listening to what she's saying at this point - I'm figuring this is a sign from heaven - and I start to daydream about - maybe she's the one. To make a long story short, she was the one, and still is. We've been together 20 years (as of november 2009) and have 3 wonderful kids. She did adoption research on the web & found her mother in Pretoria, but unfortunately, she died recently (before telling her too much). She did find that she has a half sister, who is now married and living in Australia, whom she keeps in touch with - but her mother had adopted a boy, who was very unreceptive to my wife finding her birth mother. Her adoptive parents (who are the only parents she's ever known - and so are her "real" parents) are wonderful people & have a wealth of knowledge & experience to offer and we love and treasure them as do our kids. My wife still wants to get back to South Africa some day, but I'm not so sure, with the way things have unfolded politically over there, if that is a wise thing to do. Maybe after the kids are grown & off on their own, we'll venture down there, but it kind of scares me. anyway, that's my south africa story. Take care & write more soon.

I think she was born in Rhodesia, which became Zimbabwe

A grateful story! Thanks for that! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Are you kind?"

The love you have for your wife eminates from your post. May you have a long and blessed life together. If the doors of perception were cleansed, everything would appear to man as it is, infinite. William Blake

The song Yellow Moon (on his album Tiger Rose) has a verse in it that goes "Love, Love, Love, it picks you up and spins you round, sets you right back down where you belong" It's kind of funny - the twists and turns our lives both took in getting to the point where we met. We think we were actually both at the world's fair in 65 and at Expo 67 - but never met until years later. Also, My mother came from California & my Father from upstate New York - and they met in Grad school at Maryland & settled here - so the odd occurences in both our familie's lives that brought us to the same space & time is a pretty cool coincidence.

My wife is a quiet Capricorn - very practical, hard working, reliable - and while not overly outgoing - also very strong willed. When they came back to America, from South Africa, they lived in Virginia - but moved to San Francisco when she was still pretty young- and that's where the transformation took place. She was exposed to lots of stuff in San Francisco - and had lots of pals, who I'm sure turned her on to the Dead. There's a funny story about when she was at St. Bridget's (a Catholic school) - a nun was going to punish her for talking in class by hitting her hand with a ruler - and she kept refusing to put her hand out - and finally, the poor old nun was about to blow a gasket, so she put her hand out to be whacked with a ruler - only to pull it away at the last second - and she said "I told you you weren't going to hit me with that thing" - so the poor old nun doesn't know what to make of this insulent young thing - and has her hauled off to the principle's office - where they call her mom - who is kind of sympathetic - but is trying to smooth things over. Her dad was in Viet Nam at the time, and i think they figured the lack of a father figure must have been the cause of it all & i think she did a detention or something. They moved back to Maryland when she was in mid-high school, and she met lots of deadhead friends in college too. A funny story is that after we were together for a while, we figured out that we were both at the same Harrisburg Island show in the 80's - and when i told the story of being to messed up to find our car - she had the same story - see there were two parking garages - and we were both with different groups of people, looking for our cars in the wrong garages - we probably saw each other & may have even talked. I remember hanging out on top of one of the garages with some people - too bad my memory isnt' better. It almost seems like there is this thread of us getting close - but not meeting - first at the world's fair in 65, then Expo 67, then at this dead show.

In many ways, Africa rules. It also sucks in some ways because of all the fighting. If I was living there I would migrate away from the trouble just like you do when you're in Honduras and there's a hurricane. The folks running the hotels in the safe area always jack the prices, but it's okay. You get a nice room with a TV and cable and if you're smart you brought a video game console with you. Just plug your PS3 right in and start having fun!! Immagine being in Africa and teleconferencing with a buddy in the States using the, "Playstation Eye" (web cam for the Playstation). That would be cool - and yestederday I showed a buddy 4,000 miles away the letter I was sending him before I sent it. This technology is kinda discombobulating.

I don't understand. I was just giving migrating advice based upon my experiences aborad. Specifically - Honduras. In Honduras, if there's a hurricane you have to GET OUT and move to safer territory until the storm passes. It's really a quite comfortable arangement if you handle it intelligently. Don't forget to travel light. I was very comfortable in Honduras with the knowledge that migration would be easy if it became necessary to do it . . . and the women had different clothing than America which emphasized their backs a lot. Most backs were bare - and I don't mean butts - I mean backs. I found it most stimulating. Er . . . my advice is sound as a dollar pound. Be thou Buddhistlike and be prepared to stick to life's essentials.

My wife finally found her birth mother a few yeas back - in Pretoria. Unfortunatley, she died of cancer before they could establish any kind of a relationship. She wanted to go visit - but I was honestly afraid to travel there - based on stories i'd heard of the white dutch farmers being over-run & their property taken - simply because they were white - and rampant violence. Her mother and father were greatly restricted in terms of what they could take out of the country, if they chose to leave - and what they had was taken away when they stayed. To my wife's credit, she said that it's like that all over the world - there are places you dare not go, even in Baltimore Maryland, but that doesn't mean it's not safe to come here. Still, it's not a race thing - but a cultural thing - while I would love to visit there, I don't think it makes sense to go when there's so much upheaval and animosity. Her half sister lives in Australia now, and hopefully they can come here some day - but I don't think they;ll be going back to Africa any time soon. sad.

Well I have done it again. Another building, this time in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso. Testing the "Duck and Cover" and "Evacuate the Building" alarms (which are really annoying) through the outside speakers. Instead of making everyone in a square kilometer listen to those horrible sirens, tones and wails I plugged in 5/25/77 Richmond VA and went outside for a smoke. I had to laugh when I saw all the local workers planting trees and running the irrigation system dancing to the music with big smiles on their faces. I think they got more work done that day than any other, and considering it was well of 100 degress outside that is saying a lot !

Félicitations mon ami. We are everywhere!

Some pictures?

Good morning rockers!!!! As many of you may or may not know, I am a bit of a “1971 Dead fanatic”. I have taken on a slightly ambitious project, documenting all 1971 Dead shows, the end result of which I hope will combine numerous “facts/factoids” about shows with recollections of folks who actually attended Dead shows in 1971. In order to accomplish this, I need the help of the Dead fan community. ALL contributions will be properly and specifically credited. If you attended ANY shows in 1971 and have ANY recollections to share, PLEASE consider participating. Please PM me for details. While of course I’m happy to hear from anybody who attended “classic 71 shows” such as Port Chester, Fillmore East, Harding Theater, Felt Forum, etc., I’m particularly interested in hearing from folks who may have attended lesser known, “out of the way” shows, such as: 1/21/71 Davis 1/22/71 Lane Community College 3/5/71 Oakland 4/14/71 Bucknell 4/18/71 Cortland 6/21/71 Chateau d’Herouville 8/4/71 Terminal Island 10/19/71 Northrop Auditorium 11/11/71 Atlanta 11/17/71 Albuquerque In addition, if ANYBODY out there has “paper ephemera” related to 1971 shows, Please consider participating. I’m looking especially for: Newspaper/print media articles Show posters/handbills Ticket stubs Photographs Thanks in advance to all who participate and contribute! Rock on, Doc Gillespie

cronic dead head 1992 2016 there music was decent grateful dead music was decent worth listening 2 illegal narcotics na meeting for that aa meeting for that soup kitchens for that pickett some people like mty= brother more then they like me no big deal clean & sober drug rehab vegetable mentally retarded snobbism arcadium save yer life from suiy just waiting to dye man heavy into sanatizing things bleach pinsole windex shampoo soaop deodorant shaving cream toothpaste whos the best musician off all time starbucks tobacco golden virgina rolling pappers quality have ahh nice trip become an animals best friend let nothing frighten u god doesn't change follow respectful people learn from the faith no more angel dust what ahh joke